Patience
by BeshterAngelus
Summary: Young Dana is forced to learn a very important lesson from her father, the lesson of patience. It might serve her in good stead in the future. From LJ Sci-fi com prompt, "patience". No spoilers.


Her father had been the one to teach her patience; sometimes for Dana Scully it had been a painful lesson. As a red head, she had no natural gift for that virtue, she had been blessed, or cursed some might say, with Irish heritage on both sides of her family, and a naturally short fuse that didn't hold a great deal with intolerance, bullying, or with what she believed was injustice. She was the daughter of a naval captain and the sister to two boys, one who was older and overbearing, the other who was younger and obnoxious. She knew how to hold her own when she was provoked.

It was after the third time she had been sent home from the first grade for fighting, this time for a little boy making fun of her bright, red hair, that her father had finally decided it was time to sit his little Starbuck down and teach her to control her infamous temper. He had gathered his far-from-apologetic daughter from her school, set her in the car, and had begun driving as she watched him sharply out of the corners of her bright, blue eyes. She sat huddled in the opposite corner of the front seat, her small arms crossed across her tiny chest, her chin tucked stubbornly in to her collarbone, her face set into a stubborn scowl. Bill Scully simply turned on the radio and continued to drive, saying nothing to his daughter.

She had begun to squirm uncomfortably three minutes into the drive. Dana had expected the full reading of the riot act from her father, as a sailor he had a natural gift for it, and had heard it pulled out on her brother Bill Jr. and sister Melissa on many an occasion. As her father's favorite, it was less frequent that he did it to her, but she knew that being sent home by her teacher for the third time was enough to try any parents patience, especially her own. They had expected nothing but the best from their children in school, and so far this was not what a Scully was expected to turn out.

"Timmy Stephens deserved it," she finally grudgingly muttered half-under her breath, glancing sideways at Ahab as he drove, nodding her head once as if to add emphasis to her statement that he deserved it.

Her father said nothing.

"He pulled my hair, and said that Momma must have left me out in the rain for my hair to rust. And then he laughed at my freckles, and said I was spotty."

Again, nothing from her father, he only hummed idyll to the silly jingle to the car commercial on the radio, and seemed to not even notice that Dana was speaking. She frowned at her feet, clad in serviceable loafers below her Catholic schoolgirl skirt.

"I didn't do anything to him, I was just sitting there with Missy jumping rope," though her elder sister hated her tagging along on the playground, she often kept an eye on her diminutive little sister because of such bullies as Timmy Stephens. Though, with the black eye the younger boy now sported, Melissa had commented maybe Dana could just take care of herself from now on.

Again, nothing was said, and Dana felt her heart thump in her chest. Surely, this was going to be particularly bad, if her father had yet to say anything on the subject. Usually his judgment was swift, much like she imagined God would be in her Sunday School lessons. She pulled restlessly at the pleats of her skirt, her book bag sitting lopsided on her lap.

"Melissa saw it all, she can tell you," she tried to offer up. She sighed miserably, looking out of the window of the family's large, station wagon, realizing that for the first time in a long time, she was in a great deal of trouble. Goody, goody, favorite daughter Dana was going to be spanked, or grounded, or worse. She wasn't sure what was worse, but she knew that whatever it was, it would be particularly bad.

Her father pulled into the small, serviceable ranch house her family had lived in the last two years, since her father's most recent deployment to San Diego. The hot, Southern California sun still beat down on them in September, and Scully got out carefully, dragging her feet and her book bag on the hot cement as she followed her father to the front door. He didn't say a word to her, nor did he look down at her with his warm blue eyes, the same color as her own. He simply unlocked the door, and let himself and his daughter in, as he set his keys on the table in the hallway, and called out to his wife, Maggie in the back.

"I'm back, I'll be in my office," he said, and turned on his heels from the astonished Dana who still stood in the hallway, backpack in hand, waiting for the punishment that had yet to come.

"All right," Maggie came in from some other, unknown part of the house, her hands on her hips as she looked down on her daughter. It was clear she was not pleased with the situation, her lips were pursed, and her dark eyebrows raised as she regarded Dana, before she simply gave a long-suffering sigh and smiled softly at her.

"One of these days, Dana, you'll grow up and realize you can't just punch every little boy who makes you angry."

"Yeah," she mumbled, scuffing her feet on the ground, and looking away from her mother. Why wouldn't her father speak to her?

"I think it would be best for you to go to your room, finish your homework, and think a bit on what you've done, and when the other kids get home you can have your snack, all right?"

Dana nodded her bright head morosely as she drug her heels down the hallway, to the room she shared with Melissa. It was a small room for two growing girls, and strictly divided between the girly, pink frilliness that was her sister, and the much more ambiguous, bright primary colors that Dana chose. It wasn't that she didn't like girly, as she grabbed her Raggedy Ann doll and hugged her close as she curled up on the bed.

Why was it that Ahab had said nothing to her, had not acknowledged her, and had not even given her the time of day? If it had been Bill, or Melissa, or Charlie, he would have popped his top by now, and they would have been grounded for the rest of their lives. Instead she was left in her room, without a stinging bottom or ringing ears, without the threat of having no summer vacations until they were twenty. The longer she thought about it, the more it concerned her, this silence on the part of her father, this waiting game he played. She worried that there was something else, some other terrifying new punishment he had in store, and watched her bedroom door fearfully for him to burst in at any moment. But it remained closed, and even the few noises she could hear from the room he claimed as his office were subdued, and she guessed he probably had the radio on and was listening to one of the last baseball games of the season. It was about as normal and not angry as her father got.

She hadn't realized she had fallen asleep until Melissa had burst into the room; long enough to toss her book bag on her bed and comment on how Timmy Stephens had been teased mercilessly for being beaten up by a girl half his size. Dana blinked at her in confusion, rubbing her eyes, and rising off of her bed, setting her doll back on the pillow where she had just been laying. She walked out of her bedroom door to the noises of her siblings greeting their mother, even little kindergarten Charlie, who was eagerly relating the story of his latest finger painting art. Dana hung back at her doorway, wondering if it would be all right to join the others, fearing that her older brother would tease her for fighting, or that her mother would giver her one of her sad, disappointed looks again.

But it was her father's deep, drawling voice that caught her attention from down the hall. "Starbuck, will you come in here a moment."

Dana turned to stare at the door of her father's office, where he stood watching her. He wasn't a tall man, though he was fit and trim as any Naval officer, he had the same features Dana had inherited herself, only in a more feminine form. He waited patiently for her to walk down the hallway to him, as he held the door open for her. She shuffled in and past her father, gazing up at him in worried consternation as he closed the door behind her. He offered her one of the seats by his desk, a well-worn roll top he had inherited from his father and grandfather. She sat down, scooting back in the chair, causing her small legs to stick out straight in front of her.

"Dana," he only ever called her Dana when he was serious. "I don't think I need to tell you that your mother and I are disappointed in your performance at school today."

Numbly she nodded her head, finding it difficult to meet her father's eyes.

"I don't care how much that boy teased you or made your life difficult, you had no right to start hitting him or hurting him for that. You should have told your teacher, or your mother and I. Violence isn't always the first course of action to take in a situation." She could feel his pointed look. He would know, she realized, he had gone to war before, and might go again soon.

Bill Scully leaned back in his leather chair, sighing, cocking his head sideways as he regarded his progeny. "Starbuck, I know you are wondering why I didn't start yelling at you the minute you got in the car."

Though Dana hated admitting to that the thought had been obsessing her all afternoon, she did nod her head again. She was surprised to hear him chuckle softly.

"I expected so, you were ever the curious one, and that's exactly why I did it. I knew it would bug you all afternoon, why was Dad not coming down on my, like he would Bill or Missy? I know you, Starbuck, and I knew that if I didn't, you would have to sit and be patient all afternoon until I finally called you in to speak to you."

She raised her eyes and blinked at him, silent irritation crossing her face. Her father didn't look particularly repentant.

"I had to teach you patience somehow, didn't I honey," he chided with a small laugh. "Starbuck, you are going to run into many situations in the future where there will be other boys and girls, and sometimes grown ups who will do mean or unfair things. You will have horrible things said or done to you. You'll even have annoying little boys driving you crazy. And you can not spend your entire life trying to beat them all up."

He shook his head ruefully, running a rough hand through his thinning hair. "You know, when your mother got that phone call from school today, I was so angry with you, perhaps the angriest I've ever been since the day you were born. It's not a hard concept, Starbuck, don't fight at school, follow the rules always, and listen to your teachers. That's all I ask of you. And there you go, ignoring what I said and giving some boy a black eye. I was of half a mind to tell the sisters to swat your bottom then, and I'd do it again when I arrived for good measure."

"And then I realized, 'Bill, what sort of message would you be sending to your daughter about tempers and patience? All she would see is that you were angry, and that you took your anger out on her by swatting her backside, which would only anger and embarrass you, and teach you nothing about how to control that in yourself. Do you understand?"

She nodded vaguely, her brows meeting together in a soft frown.

"In other words, Dana, how can I go about preaching to you about patience and holding your temper if I don't do it myself. So, I picked you up, I didn't say anything, and I came into my office till I felt I had sufficiently calmed down enough that I could speak to you as a good father, and not an angry one. Now do you understand?"

Dana did, though she hardly understood how this helped her in her situation with Timmy Stephens. As if reading her mind, her father crossed his arms across his broad chest. "This means, Starbuck, that if Timmy Stephens gets you that mad in the future its better for you to walk away from him and talk to him again when your not as mad. Or better yet tell your teacher and let her handle the situation, but don't resolve the situation by trying to smack him in the eye."

"Nose," Dana said softly.

"What," her father frowned in confusion.

"Nose…I was trying to hit his nose, but he moved his head, so I got his eye instead." Her voice was shameful, those she lifted her chin just a bit. "On top of making fun of my hair, he said he bet I hit like a girl."

This made her father laugh, a full, belly rumbling laugh, as he stood up, and reached down for his daughter, scooping her up out of her chair, and as if she were still a toddler, placing her on his hip. "No daughter of mine fights like a girl," he declared in mock insult. "I hope that shinier he has lasts a week, just to show him. Don't tell your mother I told you that, though."

"OK, I won't." Dana grinned.

"Now, swear to me Starbuck that you will keep your promise. Keep your temper, learn some patience, and no fighting in school."

"I promise, Ahab," she whispered, as she threw her arms around his neck.

It was many, many years later, after Ahab had gone on his final voyage, that Starbuck, now a woman most commonly referred to as Scully, sat in an office, in the basement of the J. Edgar Hoover building in Washington DC, sitting patiently in a chair, her small arms and legs crossed in the suit she wore, staring over her glasses at the tall, lanky man in the corner. She sat at a table, she sat at a desk, and he bounced a pencil listlessly on his desk by its eraser.

"Mulder," she didn't continue, but only shook her head, biting her tongue, as he glanced up at the first words he had heard out of her all morning. She looked up at the ceiling above him, still littered with pencils from his last bored office day, and then down at him where he twittled with a new addition, flipping it one handed along the backs of his long fingers.

His look was expectant, and she realized there was so much she wanted to say, so much she could say, a veritable volley of angry, painful words just itching to come out. But instead, she stood up, carefully smoothed her suit over her form, and cleared her throat.

"I'm going for coffee, you want some," she said instead, reaching for her purse where she kept it tucked away safely. "I want the good kind, not what they say is coffee in that pot upstairs."

Mulder knew that wasn't what she wanted to say, and he stared at her in amused confusion. "All you wanted to do was ask me for a coffee order."

She shrugged as he murmured, "No, I'm fine," and made her way for the office door.

"Scully, what did you want to tell me just now," Mulder spoke to her retreating back as she reached for the doorknob. She turned to regard him, leaning against the doorjamb, a soft, bittersweet smile on her lips.

"I would tell you, Mulder, but my father long ago gave me a lesson on patience…. and he made me solemnly promise to never give another boy a black eye." She straightened up, re-adjusting the purse strap over her shoulder. "The last one I did that too had a shinier for a week."

She winked playfully at a very befuddled Mulder as she walked out the door, snorting at his murmured, "What the hell was that about," as she walked down the hallway.


End file.
